


Oh, How Sweet It Is...

by GamerStories (breakbeatTF)



Series: Caleb [9]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24330058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakbeatTF/pseuds/GamerStories
Summary: Lugia TF oneshot.
Series: Caleb [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755706





	Oh, How Sweet It Is...

"Get lost, _shorty_."  
  
Life just wasn't fair to the poor runt. It never was. Standing only a measly 3'9" (approximately 1.14 meters) for an 11-year-old didn't help much at all. In fact it only made his life worse. Being picked on, getting picked off the baseball team, whatever else could be done. And due to all this, he really had no right to say he owned anybody to call a friend. It was a long and lonely road, and he only wanted everything to get better. _He_ wanted to be the top of the chain, the big fish in the pond, if you will. He wanted to know, at whatever costs, to feel...alive. To finally get revenge on the world, for all its months of torment.  
  
Yes, Michael can be sweet to people, just as long as those people don't think about harassing him. Otherwise, well- he does have a known record around the block of holding grudges against others. For a while. Which is why nobody ever wanted to be with this graphic T-shirt-, shorty-short-, water-shoe-, curly-messy blonde-, aggressive attitude-, Fort Knox-like-, and Caucasian-skin-sporting psychotic "freak of nature." They all wanted to loosen up, have fun, while he was more serious, and more chop-chop.  
  
"Hey, Michael," a voice boomed from the hallway. The blonde turns his head around, hopeful. The colossus group of 12-year-olds from grades way ahead of him surrounded his backside, and one of them spoke in their deep, deep voices: "Remember to drink more milk. You need that much advice, shorty."  
  
Shorty. It was almost thrown around casually when describing Michael. Michael silently and emotionally-less fumes out the front of the school, trying his best to keep a non-blurry vision through his forming tears and a passion so diluted he wouldn't _not_ shove his fist right up anybody's chin.  
  
"Hey, here he comes!" Michael somehow sees another group coming towards, despite his slowly obscuring vision. They seem to be made up of 8th graders, and everyone's backing up. ' _Not them again._ ' They were clearly distinguishable from their height and choice of garb.  
  
The front one was the tallest, had a dyed-black mullet, and a black straight-jacket, stunting off the greaser look to get the girls. Which was gross, considering he was about 15 and still trying to pick up twelves. One of the three minions had on a red straight jacket, and again, a midnight-black-dyed mullet and goatee, trying to please his leader by pulling off his look. The next one usually had on a hoodie resting on his head, with a shadow covering up his face, and stuck to the sidelines, observing everything and participating in nothing. All the students guessed he was accepted because he annoyed them so much. But his motives for so was unknown, he wouldn't talk at all, even to the teachers. The final one was the brute of the group. He had muscles, considering the failed twice. Once in seventh, and another in eighth. Fortunately, all he cared for his body. Unfortunately, that meant that everyone else felt his brutality, commanded by his one-and-only leader.  
  
Once the group came close enough, they surrounded the poor Michael, and begin to pin him. Soon, one grabs his backpack, and gets it off him. (Which, isn't hard too hard when the victim is light enough and he wears it with only one strap on.)  
  
Michael, searing with hatred, demands the leader of the group, "Brandon, give it back."  
  
"Aww, poor baby wants his bottle back. Here, let's see if he can make it past a half-foot with those legs." The entire group laughs, not only with Brandon, but at Michael.  
  
"Brandon, I'm not joking. Give it back. Come on, Brandon."  
  
The whole crowd of ambushers laughs in response. Michael, still persisting, says, "Just give it back." Michael rolls up his right sleeve, and tenses up his muscle like he's seen in movies multiple times; only he hopes life is like the movies.  
  
"Try. Just try to get it back-" Brandon mocks. Michael now visibly winds up, ready to strike the ending blow...but not before Brandon perks up and swiftly turns his head around to see an infuriated teacher storming towards them.  
  
"Guys, let's run!" Brandon yells to the group. Even as feared as the group was around the school grounds, they were nothing compared to the principal. And so, they ran. But Michael didn't. He was busy bent down, trying to salvage what papers fluttered onto the ground.  
  
"Michael, are you okay?" the teacher bends down and asks him.  
  
Michael only nods approvingly.  
  
As the teacher continues, she tries to comfort him by asking,"Do you mind if we get your mom to come and pick you up? I know you must hate going to the same bus with those..." putting her hand around Michael, forcing him to go with her.  
  
"No! No! No!" Michael shouts, struggling to no avail, trying to free himself from her grasp, "No! I wanna show him! I wanna show Brandon what I can do! Let me go! Let me go!"  
  
\-->  
  
Eventually, Michael squirmed his way out of the office's waiting room and comes face-to-face with a woman.  
  
"Are you okay, sweetie?" she asks Michael.  
  
"I'm fine, Mom," Michael lies.  
  
"Are you sure?" she asks again.  
  
Miguel, defiantly answers her question, despite his longing for the actual correct answer. And so, the two walk to the car.  
  
\-->  
  
Michael is now in his bedroom, stuffing pillows in his face to prevent anybody from hearing him. All he wanted to finally feel it. Power. But he couldn't. He knew he could never feel power. He knew, deep down, that he wasn't worthy enough. He was unfortunately blinded by rage, and he hated those people.  
  
His bedroom fully represented him. A mess. Clothes were everything simply from him not caring, and pictures of his enemies had holes right where their faces should be. The fan would work, though the lights barely did, though he didn't mind, he slept in the dark anyway. That way at the very least nobody could see him cry.  
  
Then he started punching. Trying to obliterate his pillows into never-existence, he cocks his arm as far as it'll go, and uses his closed hand's velocity to do the rest, shouting with hatred as each blow either lands or misses; and when he does miss, it only rekindles his anger.  
  
"I...just...want to...be-" Michael starts, before realizing he didn't know. He didn't know what he wanted. Did he want revenge, like his heart had been telling him? Or maybe peace? He shakes his head, as his mind wanders off...  
  
His legs walked to the bedroom window. His arms opened up the window despite his unwillingness to do so. Once the window was unlatched and opened, the silent breeze hit his face, managing to calm him down.  
  
"Ahh..." he breaths. As his eyes shut, he now forgot everything except the smooth tranquility of the cold October night, managed to soothe his soul. He wanted now to be part with the wind, to let go, and be forgotten. **That** would make his revenge all the sweeter. He smiled devilishly. However, what he didn't know was, it was actually happening right as he thought of it.  
  
It started with his head. His nose elongated, forming into his mouth, creating a muzzle, and his eyebrows then stretched outward, before wrapping around his eyes. Little sharp triangles of flesh poked out of his lips, which have now dissolved, all while is neck is forming to that of a giraffe, it becomes so long. "Yes...Yes...YES!" Michael screeches, his eyes wide open, lost in the amazement and realization of what was happening to him.  
  
Unfortunately, just his willpower wasn't simply enough. As his neck stretched, he felt all of his organs being shifted, thinned, and crammed together, he found himself unable to stay up for long.  
Michael now instead groans, grasping his human stomach in hopes of saving, "Ngh," trying to stay conscious. Not even a quarter through the transformation, and Michael's found lying on the ground, passed out. But the magic still flows nonetheless.  
  
His waist widens as his stomach inflates, and some of the fat even goes to his thighs. 8 individual bones come from his now extended spine, and each grows away from each other, like galaxies in a universe. His hands begin to inflate as well, as his fingernails dissipate, and they extend and grow outward. His arms thicken to compensate for the mass of his new hands.  
  
His legs were next, as his thighs ended up shrinking and became enveloped by the now-almost complete Lugia, and his knees shrunk into his bones. His toes caved inward, eventually forming a W-position, and swelled to a size a webbed Loch-Ness monster would be proud to have. The remains of his legs ovalized as the tail began.  
  
It grew out of his developed spine, which would have caused him pain had he not be K.O.'ed so easily. Growing flesh covered the muscle appearing around the bridging bone, until the bone stopped. At that point, the skin stopped forming as well, making a sharp point at the end. Two bones also formed close to the tip of the tail. His pupil diminished as if he belonged in an anime. As for the last trick, pure bliss white seeped over Michael's skin, and blue overcame the bare-white bones of his human past.  
  
However, that was not all: His mind, now bigger than ever thanks to his larger head, was blessed with the memories of being a regular Lugia, and what the Diving Pokemon was supposed to do, yet Michael's memories were left untouched and un-wavered. Suddenly, like a puppet being masterminded, the Lugia now stands, despite the owner of the body being half-asleep. But right then, the puppet awakes.   
  
He opened his eyes. "I thought something was happening..." he said, pricking an empty syringe out of his new white, now with a more mature mind and deeper voice to suit a Lugia's taste. He spread out his arms, which were now basically wings, and swung them down to simulate flapping. Sure enough, he fluttered off the ground. The Lugia grinned, for he had just learned how to fly.  
  
He then backed up, and rammed his wall with full-on force. After making a successful hole in his bedroom, he flew out onto the back deck of his home. He couldn't believe it. He actually got what he wanted. He finally had power. Power, beyond even his beliefs. He was so caught by his majestic appearance and raw power that-  
  
"Hello, mister- Michael," a soothing, yet suspicious voice arose. Michael tilted his head away from his arm and peered behind to see who would ever be stupid enough to interrupt the dawn of his new reign. "It appears as though you've- wanted power. For all these years, you've craved it, thought about it, and I know you've wanted it," the mysteriously cloaked person said, walking towards Michael, "That, good sir, is why I gave you said power," the figure is now close to Michael. "Unfortunately for you, I also know and understand your motives as well; and I cannot allow it. So please, make this easy on yourself, and come with me-" the masked man bargains, holding out his hand, almost as if he were expecting a handshake. Instead, what he was greeted with was a supersonic blast to the face. Michael was already off in the sky, flying away from him, hoping the Aeroblast would provide enough of a distraction.   
  
The masked man, now groaning and struggling to get up, finally mustered through enough to stand on his two legs, and look up at the sky, still pushing through. Realizing what monster he'd just set free, Caleb sucks his cheeks into his mouth, and looks down to the ground, contemplating his decisions.  
  
\--> (THE NEXT DAY)  
  
" _Oh, would ya look at that! A hole-in-one for the great-_ "  
  
" _-And this can be yours for only $19-_ "  
  
"Hmph," Caleb huffed a breath of arrogance. Humans can be stupid sometimes, forgetting about their brethren. Of course, there were so many nowadays, one or two minor disappearances wouldn't hurt, but just in case, he always browsed the news outlets and the internet, like always. He made sure none of his works got on the headlines so he wouldn't be discovered as a result. Luckily, nothing had shown up after last night's work. Then he got to the last news channel.  
  
" _Reports of a fire located actually at a nearby apartment complex have been having people boast some strange origins about the said fire. Is that right, Tom?_ " asked the news-lady, chuckling at the last part. Caleb's interest peeked now, his full attention towards the screen.  
  
" _That's right, Lisa-_ "  
  
' _Tom and Lisa. Must be their cover-up names,_ ' thought Caleb. He knew better than to trust anyone these days. They always either had cameras on you or were lying right to you.  
  
" _-people have said that a large white bird, taller than their room, even, just swooped in, and rained absolute havoc across the entire complex. And, get this. The thing wasn't even breathing fire, according to them, but instead, sent supersonic sound waves that destroyed the walls. I don't even know **what** you'd have to be on to see hallucinations like that. Anyways, police **are** currently checking the complex to see what actually caused it, and all the injured have been sent to the hospital. 'Course, I'd send the non-injured to an insane asylum, but...Anyways- back to you, Lisa._"  
  
The entire crew was still laughing at the absolute absurdity of the headlines itself while Lisa began, " _Alright, well- uh, next up, a robber who tried to-_ "  
  
\------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Caleb turned off the television by that point, stone-cold and determined. He had a Pokemon to teleport.


End file.
